
BY MAY HASTINGS NOTTAGE 



LIBRARY UF CONGRESS. 



(PS ^f^7 

Cliap.. _ Copyright No. 



Shelf 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MY 

FATHER'S VOICE 
IN PRAYER 

AND OTHEE POEMS 



BY 



MAY HASTINGS NOTTAGE 



BOSTON 

SCRIPTURAL TRACT REPOSITORY 

47 CORNHILL 

1901 



Library of Confires* 

Iwo Copies Received 
JAN 23 1901 

Copjmght Miify 

SECOND COPY 






Copyright, 1901. 

By H. B. Hastings. 

Boston, Mass. 



DEDICATION. 

TO MY MOTHER. 

Oft wlien we sang an hymn at time of prayer 
My father's voice would cease, and in its place 

Another rise, less strong, and faltering where 
His rose with mighty triumph in God's grace. 

So for that voice now vainly listening 
Whose vibrant music lingers in our ears, 
I lift my weaker voice, oft choked with tears, 

And sing because while here he bade me sing. 

And as, a little child, I used to lay 

My work, with tangled stitches, on thy knee, 
So with their imperfections, I to-day 

Do bring my songs, O mother sweet, to thee. 
Content, if by fond mother-love approved 

They sweep the harpstrings of dear memories. 

And seem to wake, in fitful minor keys, 
A faint, far echo of that voice beloved. 



MY 
FATHERS YOIOE IE" PEATEE 

AND 

OTHER POEMS. 

MY FATHER'S VOICE IN PRAYER. 

In the silence that falls on my spirit 

When the clamor of life loudest seems, 
Comes a voice that floats in tremulous notes 

Far over my sea of dreajns. 
I remember the dim old vestry 

And my father kneeling there; 
And the old hymns thrill with the memory still 

Of my father's voice in prayer. 

I can see his glance of approval 

As my part in the hymn I took ; 
I remember the grace of my mother's face, 

And the tenderness of her look ; 
And I knew that a gracious memory 

Cast its light on that face so fair 
As her cheek flushed faint— O mother, my saint !— 

At my father's voice in prayer. 



MY YOKE. 

'Neath the stress of that marvelous pleading 

All childish dissensions died ; 
Each rebellious will sank conquered and still 

In a passion of love and pride. 
Ah, the years have held exquisite voices, 

And melodies tender and rare; 
But tenderest seems the voice of my dreams— 

My father's voice in prayer. 



MY YOKE. 

Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will 
give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me; for I am 
meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. 
For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light. 

" Come unto Me! " He said; and as I heard 
His voice, a strange, vague longing in me stirred 

That from that moment never hushed its cry. 
And pitying He stood and looked on me 
In tenderest sympathy; 

And called my name, and would not pass me by. 

"My yoke," the Master said; and I 
Impatient, thrust the helpful, kind hand by, 

Mattering, "Nay, lift this burden on me pressed. 
I cannot lift my head Tliy face to see. 
It weighs so heavily. 

Was not Thy promise, ' I will give you rest ' ? " 



MY YOKE. 

Yet still He waited. Sad the longing eyes 
Of Him who meekly stood in suppliant guise 

And pleaded with me, oh, so tenderly. 
And my heart yearned to answer — but I heard 
His softly spoken word — 

"Child, take My yoke upon you — learn of Me." 

The years passed on. Unwearying He stood 
Beside me still, his footprints marked with blood, 

His gentle voice entreating, " Take My yoke." 
And that sharp cry of need witlun my breast 
Pleaded with Him for rest, 

While evermore His voice of labor spoke. 

But the imploring eyes, the thorn-scarred brow, 
The face, seamed with unutterable woe, 

At last woke love in my complaining heart. 
"Even Thy yoke, O Master," then I said. 
Albeit with drooping head, 

" Because Thou sufferedst, I will bear my part." 

And lo! the grievous burden I had borne 

Bound fast with cords, — the shrinking flesh all torn 

And scarred, but closely veiled from mortal sight, - 
Seemed lifted from me. And with upraised head 
And grateful tears I said, 

"Thy yoke is easy, and Thy burden light." 



BETHLEHEM. 



BETHLEHEM. 



Fair Bethlehem, thy pastures lie 
Kissed by the sunlight, as of old, 

And nightfall hears the shepherd's cry 
Still call his sheep within thy fold. 

Ages ago did Israel's king 

Watch by his sheep on Bethlehem's plain, 
Unknown, unhonored, listening 

God's voice, that called his child to reign. 

O shepherd king, thy boyish brow 

Showed little sign of diadem. 
Now warrior, king of Israel now, 

O shepherd boy of Bethlehem! 

Years come, years go. The shepherd king 
And all his court are passed away ; 

Yet still the plains of Bethlehem 
Lift quiet faces to the day. 

And David's city, as of old 

Its walls concealed a king unknown 

Has given welcome scant and cold 
To one of more than earthly throne. 



BETHLEHEM. 

No crown upon that infant brow 
Tells of his glory or despair; 

But angels watch, and angels know 
The light of God is shining there. 

Thy crown is waiting! Agony 

And shame and grief are in the way, 

The crown of thorns ! while unto Thee 
The longing nations press their way. 

Blessed art thou, O Bethlehem, 
Because of that fair infant's birth. 

That child, the branch of David's stem 
Shall hold dominion o'er the earth. 

Shall die to rise, shall rise to reign 
Upon a more than royal throne ; 

And He who lay in Bethlehem 
In glory shall receive his own. 



EMMAUS. 

Art thou a stranger even, and hast not heard 
The things that come to pass these bitter days? 

Jesus of Nazareth is crucified — our Lord ; 
And we walk desolate, in sore amaze. 

We trusted it was he who should redeem 

His waiting Israel — nay, a patriot's dream. 



10 



Our hearts go mourning ever in the gloom 
That wrapped Golgotha and its crosses three. 

We knelt in fruitless pleading at the tomb 
Where Jews have stationed Roman soldiery. 

And hope is dead, and faith yields to despair ; 

There is no living Saviour anywhere. 

How heavily the woful hours have passed 
Since his last lamentation pierced the air ; 

The rock-hewn cave that held his body fast, 
Filled with sweet odors, like a woman's prayer, 

Echoed in mournful answer to our cry. 

The guards sealed up the door and thrust us by ! 

And when the women at the break of day 
For his anointing brought their spices sweet, 

The stone that closed the door was rolled away. 
None know where rest those weary, mangled feet. 

Nothing is left ! and some already go 

Back to their fishing : and we loved Him so ! 

Come, thou companion of our loneliness, 
Abide with us ; the day is now far spent. 

Surely God sent thee our sad hearts to bless 
As sorrowful across the hills we went. 

Hadst thou but known our Lord! but now, beside 

All this, 'tis three days since the Master died. 



JORDAN. 11 

And they constrained Him ; and the risen Lord, 
Staying but for the entreaty of their need, 

Entered the house with them — sat at their board, 
Took bread, and blessed. As the familiar deed 

Revealed the form unrecognized before, 

Blessing the bread, they saw His face no more. 

He passed from sight; but in their eager ears 

Still breathed His blessing whom they mourned as 
dead. 

And faith, upspringing from their conquered fears 
Grew strong, since He was risen, as He said. 

Forgotten were the cross, the rock-walled prison ! 

The Lord lay there no longer — He was risen ! 

From the dark cave where I have laid away 

Hopes crowned with thorns, and dreams with spear- 
thrusts tora, 

Comest, Thou, Lord, to join me on my way 
As I go weeping, faithless and forlorn? 

Until the day break and the shadows flee, 

O risen Saviour, come, abide with me ! 

JORDAN. 

Sun-kissed and reed-caressed, thy waters cool 

Spring from the snowy founts that give them birth, 
And laughing, singing on from pool to pool. 



12 JORDAN. 

Bring life and freshness to the thirsty earth. 
Leaping from rock to rock, or lying calm 
In fair Genesaret, thou sing'st a psalm. 

A psalm of thankfulness that thou hast been 
The guardian of the land that God has loved. 

Beyond thy waves lay Canaan's meadows green 
When Israel from their prison-house removed, 

And thy bright borders from the desert dry 

Welcomed the footsore, homesick company. 

Thy floods recoiled before the ark of God 

Borne by the priests, while Israel's host passed by. 

Upon thy marge the holy Baptist trod 

And viewed the wonder of the opening sky. 

Thy reeds their whispers hushed to hear the word 

That owned and blessed the Incarnate Son of God. 

The Master, passing by on wearied feet. 
Was fain to lave them in thy shallows clear. 

From quiet hamlet and from busy street 

The people thronged thy banks. His voice to hear. 

On overlooking heights the chill night air 

Breathed on his forehead, as he knelt in prayer. 

In pastures green the shepherd leads his sheep, 

By waters still, as centuries ago. 
We seem to hear, in the night-watches deep, 



THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 13 

The music of the Psalmist murmured low. 
These pass away ; thy banks turn brown, turn green 
Again ; thou cherishest what thou hast seen. 

There is a River, whose pellucid flow 
Makes glad the radiant city of our Grod ; 

Whose waters with life-giving freshness flow. 
And by whose banks no foot in pain hath trod. 

May thy bright waters but the symbol be 
Of that, outflowing from the tideless sea. 



THE MASTER CALLETH THEE. 

Fair land, who liest in thy wealth of flowers, 
Drooping, and curst with sin's dread slavery, 

Hearest thou in the slowly passing hours 
Him who entreateth thee? 

Soft through the darkness hearest thou His voice, 
Calling 'neath waving palm and tangled bower. 

Echoing through ruined shrines to thee, "Rejoice! 
It is my promised hour "? 

" O let me in! " the Master's voice entreats; 

"I have redeemed thee with the price I paid," 
And through the shattered temples still repeats 

" Redeemed!" throuji^h court and "-lade. 



14 TYRE. 

Lift up thy head, unhappiest ! unto thee 
He offers freedom for sin's servitude ; 

Garments of praise for heaviness; and see, 
For ashes, sweetest food. 

Into thy homes, O loveliest! let Him in. 

Thy guarded portals to the Lord unbar. 
He hath redeemed thee ! cleansed from stain of sin, 

Thy light shall shine afar. 

TYRE. 

O Tyre, proud mistress of the seas! 

The sun has tipped thy stately towers 
With splendor, and the morning breeze 

Laughs in the revel of thy hours. 
It kisses light the sea, that creeps 

A suppliant, to thy queenly feet, 
And o'er thy crowded shipping sweeps, 

Rejoicing, in its passage fleet. 

No lack hast thou of gems or gold ; 

Thy purple wraps thy dainty limbs; 
Thy hands earth's ponderous sceptre hold ; 

No rival state thy prospect dims ; 
Yet, Tyre, thy reign is near its doom — 

Thy kingdom totters to its fall. 
Proud empress, wrap thyself in gloom, 

For God is ruler over all. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 15 

Still falls the sunlight where those towers 

Upraised their heads to meet its glance ; 
Still, as in those joy-crowded hours, 

The light winds on the waters dance ; 
But now no stately palaces 

Look proudly on the subject sea; 
Prostrate the mighty empress lies: 

Her victor reigns eternally. 

Her sorrow, like a mantle, shuts 

Her heart from hope, her hands from toil; 
Her palaces are fishers' huts; 

Her purple robes her salt tears soil. 
The Lord hath spoken ! bow thy head 

And own his word of doom fulfilled. 
Thy glory lies among the dead ; 

Thy fall Omnipotence has willed. 

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Upon the city, like the pallid light 

Of distant stars, the hoar-frost gleaming lay 

And chanting shrilly, through the winter night 
Swift rushing on, the wind-choir swept its way. 

It was the night men said "The Christ is born! " 
And all the city was aglow with flame, 

Making with tapers mimicry of dawn, 
To honor Him who in a manger came. 



16 IN ABSENCE. 

But out of light and warmth, out where the frost 
Thrust its chill fingers in his stagnant blood, 

Lay, by some chance wave in its passing tossed, 
A bit of human driftwood in life's flood. 

Why, when all men rejoiced, upon that night 
Lay he uncared for in the bitter cold? 

Was not for his dull eyes the world's great light? 
Not for his ears the angel's anthem rolled 

Over the plains of lowly Bethlehem! 

Pitiful Christ! give us Thy heart to know 
Thy little ones; and kindness unto them 

Count Thou as service unto Thee below. 



m ABSENCE. 

How shall I think of thee when thou art gone? 
Not with faint shadowings of lonely fancies, 
Not in the unreal light of thought bound trances 

Shall I recall thy name at waking dawn ; 

But as a thought of heaven-sent help to do 

Faithfully, bravely what my God may send me. 
This is the memory that shall attend me. 

This shall gild all the days thine absence through. 



BY THE CONGO RIVER. 17 

BY THE CONGO RIVER. 

Faintly the palm-crests quiver; 

Bright are the tropical flowers ; 
Far up its gorges the river 

Roars through the burning hours; 
Breathless the valleys are lying 

Parched in the burning heat, 
While for the far river sighing 

Sob hidden brooklets sweet. 

Fair is the land in its seeming 

Under the tropic sun; 
Faint with the heat it lies dreaming; 

Fair, but alas, undone. 
Forests and marshes are glowing 

In the rejoicing light, 
But by the brown river flowing 

Settles a drear midnight. 

Dark are the faces upturning 

Drearily to the sky. 
Dark are the sad spirits, burning, 

Aching, they know not why. 
They, 'mid the wonderful glory 

Of tlie rejoicing earth 
Know not the marvelous story 

Of the Redeemer's birth. 
Darkness is brooding around them. 



18 THE CHANGED LAND. 

Darkness of starless night ; 
Centuries passing have found them 

Smitten with hopeless blight. 
Sorrowful voices are calling 

Joining the river's moan — 
Crying with anguish appalling, 

Why are we left alone? 

Listen ! a low moan beateth 

Solemnly on the ear. 
Hopeless the spirit fleeteth. 

Listen! can ye not hear? 
Though all the world rejoices, 

Shrill through the revelry 
Rise those imploring voices — 

Sounds on that mournful cry ! 



THE CHANGED LAND. 

From North to South the fair land lay 

Soft-smiling in the flush of morn; 
Its bright shores kissed by flying spray, 

Its hills uplifting to the dawn 
Their summits, crowned with snowy crowns 

And wrapped in trailing robes of mist. 
Its lakes beat restless at their bounds 

Like fretted sheets of amethyst; 



I 



THE CHANGED LAND. 19 

• 

And dusky faces smiled beneath 

Its bending trees, and by its streams 
The child's small fingers wove their wreath, 

The Indian maiden dreamed her dreams. 
How changed, dear land, is all thy face! 

The simple people and their homes 
Vanish before a stronger race 

That crowding in their footsteps comes. 

White in the sun thy shipping gleams ; 

Where once but pathless forest lay 
Fair cities rise ; and on thy streams 

A thousand mill-wheels shower their spray. 
From East to West the land is crossed 

With shining tracks of burnished steel; 
And called by echoing chimes wind-tossed 

The gathered people reverent kneel. 

Thy fertile meadows, where the deer 

Lay in the lush grass, cool and sweet, 
Laugh 'neath their golden load ; the Year, 

In gathering, heaps it at thy feet. 
Gaunt Famine reaches fleshless hands 

Across the seas; and from thy store 
Thou sendest to the Mother-land 

The treasures that thy broad fields bore. 



20 TO MY neighbor's CHILD. 

• 

When, undismayed, Columbus dared 

The perils of the unlinown seas. 
He little dreamed, as on he fared, 

The changes of the centuries; 
But pressing on to far Catiiay, 

Through storm and calm his sails unfurled, 
He sought to fame and wealth a way, 

But found, indeed, an unknown world. 

TO MY NEIGHBOR'S CHILD. 

Dear little hands that clasp and cling 

And touch my cheek with light caress, 
Ye set my sad thoughts wandering 

Through shadowed years of loneliness. 
Your fingers passing to and fro 

Like softly dropping tears might be; 
For the wee hands that loved me so 

Are lost to me — are lost to me ! 

Dear little one with sunny hair 

And drowsy eyelids drooping low. 
My baby's head once nestled there 

Upon my shoulder, long ago, 
But now for me no bright eyes shine ; 

And empty is my heart and sore; 
The sweet child-face, upraised to mine 

Will come no more — will come no more ! 



SIXTEEN. 21 

Dear rosy lips, so frank and free 

Upraised to mine, unstained and pure, 
I take your kisses gratefully, 

And with them courage to endure. 
I hold you close, for my child's sake; 

God keep you thus, all undefiled ! 
You cannot know how hearts can ache 

That miss the presence of a child! 

SIXTEEN. 

TO SUSIE. 

Sweet sixteen! and the eyes are dancing, 

The hair lies soft on the unlined brow. 
Never a shade of the years advancing 

Touches the heart that lies dreaming now. 
Childhood and girlhood will soon be over; 

Womanhood comes full fast, I ween ; 
Where will you be, my winsome rover, 

When, like me, you are twice sixteen? 

Sweet sixteen! and the years are laden 

Each with their burden of daily care; 
Each of them bearing away, my maiden. 

Something you fain would have eherished there. 
You will remember the school days olden. 

The river will call to you, loud and plain; 
The moonlight never will seem so golden 

Nor the ring of the skates so clear again. 



A WISH. 

But for each vanished girlish treasure 

Laid aside, it may chance, with tears, 
Life shall bring you a fuller measure, 

Lapped in the heart of the coming years. 
Heart to share with sad hearts its blessing; 

Strength to labor with brow serene ; 
Hands to meet yours in love's caressing — 

These are my wish for you, Sweet Sixteen. 



A WISH. 

To lie in sleepy meadows, with milk-white violets 

crowned; 
Above me sailing, sailing the white mists, and around 
The straight, lithe grasses bending to sweep across my 

cheek. 
And fern-lips kissing my still lips, that need not part to 

speak ; 
The dim, faint, whirring harmony of locust and of bee 
Above me rising, rising; a robin warily 
Close watching, till my stillness he does not deign to fear. 
And pours his careless rapture to heaven, crystal-clear ; 
And just one crested elm-tree, a silent sentinel, 
"While in the distant pine-tops the winds, grown weary, 

dwell. 
Ah, this one wish ! Ye fairies that guard the Wishing 

Well, 



APRIL. 23 

Give me one draught of water, and wind your magic spell ; 
Then bear rae where this valley sleeps 'neath a watching 

peak, 
And lay me in the silence, the grass against my cheek. 

APRIL. 

Above me bends a tender sky — 

Such sky as only April brings — 
BelovJ, the blue stream glitters by; 

Around, I hear the whirr of wings. 

There is no leaf on bush or tree ; 

The wayside shows no hint of green ; 
But if you bend on reverent knee 

The pale arbutus smiles serene, 

Pushing aside the withered leaves 
With blossoms like a baby's hands; 

The earth's warm breast impatient heaves; 
All crowned with gold the alder stands. 

A perfect day ! The cool, fresh wind 
Bears pleasant odors on its wings; 

And, lightly passing, leaves behind 
Sweet promises of lovelier things. 

bluebird, from your highest flight 
You brought the sky's own color back. 

Our eyes are dazzled, as the sight 
Essays to follow your bright track. 



24 WITH VIOLETS, 

And robin, you have sung so long 
To these fresh winds, this laughing-stream, 

They too are jubilant with song; 
The brilliant air is all agleam. 

Save where the wraith-like clouds flit by. 
Blown by the hurrying April wind. 

Pass, cloud and chill, from out our sky, 
And leave this perfect blue behind. 



WITH VIOLETS. 

I wandered in the woods but yesterday. 

And heard the first faint voices of the spring. 

Around me, violet-crowned, the black mould lay. 
Above me passed a whirring robin's wing. 

And all the bursting buds in soft, low harmony. 

Breathed to my listening ears a message. Love, for thee. 

So here I bring its burden. Bend, I pray, 

Thy dear head down, and listen with thy heart; 

And thou shalt hear these wind-taught petals say 
What my poor lips could utter but in part. 

Then think the Forest chose me for its messenger 

Because my heart retained each word imprinted there. 



AT EVENTIDE. 25 

AT EVENTIDE. 

I walked in a garden at gray eventide ; 

The clouds hanging heavy and low 
Seemed weeping for loneliness ; heavily sighed 

The wind sweeping drearily through. 
And lily and rose seemed so desolate there 

That sobbing I hastened along 
And paced with impatient step restlessly where 

I heard a low, soft falling song. 

Oh, gently it faltered upon the chill air — 

A low brooding strain of delight. 
I saw not the singer — she sang hidden where 

The leaves closed her nest from my sight. 
But into my heart stole the song of the bird 

Like balm on its pain and unrest; 
And answering back, in my spirit there stirred 

The couras^e that reigned in her breast. 



"THERE'S PANSIES, THAT'S FOR 
THOUGHTS." 

TO E. D. M. 

''There's pansies, that's for thoughts'' — bright flower 

faces, 
Lifting their cheerful eyes in quiet places. 



26 AN IDYL OF THE SPRING. 

So may thy girlhood's years that speed above thee 
Bring pleasant thought of thee to us who love thee. 

May God be with thee, wheresoever thou rovest; 
May God be gracious to the hearts thou lovest ; 
Crown thee with mercies like the pansies golden, 
Keep thee in safety in His arms enfolden. 

AN IDYL OF THE SPRING. 

Across the half-clad branches 

The softened sunlight falls. 
Its mellow glory slanting 

Through stately forest-halls. 
The amber green of spring-time 

Folds over barren sprays, 
Above its faint bloom floating 

A dream of summer days. 
And like an angel's blessing 

The passing wind's rich psalm 
Swells through the breathless silence 

And dies away in calm. 

Beneath our feet are peeping 
The heralds of the spring, 

Wind-flower and daisy lifting 
Their starry blossoming. 

They whisper of the summer, 
Of fair June's perfect day ; 



PHoeBE. 27 

The grace of incompleteness 

Is thine, beloved May. 
Thine is the tender promise 

Of coming leaf and bloom, 
And thine the rare heart-choral 

Of earth and heaven in tune. 

Now fainter falls the sunlight ; 

Within the western sky 
The crimson sunset roses 

Bloom out, and fade, and die. 
Around us, gray and gloomy, 

The forest-shadows fall; 
From branch to branch the song-birds 

Pipe low their good-night call. 
And still the beauty lingers 

Within the deepening shade ; 
And still the great wind-organ 

By angel hands is played. 

PHCEBE. 

The fields are brown and the skies are gray, 
And the streams are bound in the Frost-King's sway. 
The desolate earth lies bare and cold, 
And the chill wind whistles on wood and wold. 
I wonder how long ere the brooks are free 
And the birds come ! Listen ! — 
"Phoebe! Phoebe!" 



28 THE NIGHT BIRD's SONG. 

brave little heart 1 from the raw chill wind 

1 shiver and shrink, my snug doors behind; 
But you in the leafless branches dwell, 
And over and over your name you tell. 

" No matter how dreary the skies may be, 
I wait for the sunshine — 

Phoebe! Phcsbe!" 

And lo! from the gray of the dull March skies 
A shaft of gold at my window lies; 
And out of the bare earth reaching up 
The crocus is holding her dainty cup ; 
And the catkins swell on the willow tree; 
True prophet wert thou, 

Phoebe! Phoebe! 

Unclouded blue is the bright March sky. 
The wind has swept all the dark clouds by. 
And there in the copse, where the hazel buds 
Are swelling and bursting their glossy hoods, 
A little bird's throat is just splitting with glee; 
The sunshine has come to 

Phoebe! Phoebe! 



THE NIGHT BIRD'S SONG. 

I never heard it but once; and then, 
Out of the darkness that lay around, 



THE NIGHT BIRD's SONG. 29 

Out of the gloom of the dusky fen, 
Throbbed, like a heart-beat, that strange, sweet 
sound. 

All through the hush of the July eve 
I dreamed in the twilight, as maidens dream, 

Heard in the thicket the whippoorwill grieve. 
Heard the light laugh of the little stream, 

Then, 'neath clouds and the stars and dew, 
Roamed out alone in the moonless night. 

Tall marsh-grass bent as I hurried through, 
The drowsy river came in sight. 

So slow and deep in its marsh-fringed bed 
It rolled, that no ripple the surface marred. 

I stood in the silence and bowed my head ; 
Prayed ; for the heavens seemed cold and hard. 

Out of the silence so deep, so deep 

It sunk to my heart and made silence there, 

When it seemed no sound save of souls who weep 
In loneliness born of a great despair 

Could break that marvelous hush, a sound 
Fell, like a star falling through the mist ; 

As if heaven's portals had been unbound 
And the gold had entered the amethyst. 



30 THE PROMISE OF DAY. 

Earth holds but one rare singer like this. 

And the quivering tide of melody 
Is heard but once in a life, I wis. 

It will never be sung again to me. 



THE PROMISE OF DAY. 

Across the brown furrows the swallows 

Are wheeling their flight; 
In deep-shaded nooks and in hollows 

Is darkened the light ; 
Tlie twilight the sunset glow follows, 

And then cometh night. 

The sunshine of life is departed, 

And dimmed to our eyes 
The beauty of lilies gold-hearted 

Or gold of the skies ; 
And tears in the twilight have started 

At sad memories. 

Yet the light that above us is fading 

Oft faded before. 
The night in its gloomiest shading 

Holds infinite store 
Of manifold mercies whose lading 

Is rich as of yore. 



THE PROMISE OF DAY. 31 

Be steadfast, ye stars that are shining 

Above in the blue. 
Though we in our bitter repining 

Scarce look up to you, 
Yet God, all our weakness divining, 

Still bids you shine true. 

And out where night's pillars are rifted 

With deep amethyst. 
And over the skies that are drifted 

With tremulous mist, 
And where the last sunlight lies sifted 

On flowers that it kissed 

We read as in characters golden 

The sign of His power. 
Though round them the night's robes are folden, 

His stars keep the hour. 
Our lives in His great heart are holden 

Like dew in the flower. 

We hear in the night wind that's blowing 

The promise of day ; 
On the hills where the sunset is glowing 

The sunrise will play ; 
The fields that lie black 'neath the sowing 

Yield harvest some day. 



32 RECONCILED. 

RECONCILED. 

Give thanks that the clouds of the old year 

Are melting away in the new ! 
Kneel low in your chamber and pray, dear, 

As I have been praying for you. 
The gray of the storm-clouds has broken, 

The sapphire and gold are in sight ; 
The sunlight has flung us a token 

That we may be grateful to-night. 

Bewildering mists that have risen 

Like shadows of fear in a dream 
Have ope'd their intangible prison 

And showed us the sky all agleam. 
The pride that our passion obeying 

Still kept us apart when most near, 
Has softened 'neath loving and praying, 

And melts at the touch of a tear. 

How sure have our footsteps been guided 

When each thought the other unkind ! 
How strange that we bitterly chided 

The Hand that our lives intertwined! 
And now, in the sunlight that's shining 

In rays on our path through the year^ 
The shade of our ways past divining, 

Give thanks for this brightened lot, dear. 



I 



SEHNSUCHT. 

SEHNSUCHT. 

Like the voice of the wind at night, 
When the household lights are out 
And the children are asleep, 
Comes a cry of desire and delight 
When all is silent about, 

And it calls to me, long and deep. 

Oh, heart of my heart, that cries 
And never is wholly at rest 
In silence or in the throng — 
Thy passionate yearning lies 

Deep-hidden and unconfessed ; — 
And its voice is the voice of Song. 

Like the voice of the wind and storm 
And the bursting sob of the sea 
In its bounds it cannot o'erpass 
So passionate, yet without form, 
My longing cries out in me. 
And struggles, alas ! alas ! 

THE WIND FROM OFF THE SEA. 

strong, sweet wind, blown inland 
Across the burning sands, 

1 feel thee on my forehead ; 
I reach thee eager hands. 



as 



34 GALILEE. 

The whitening surf is calling 

My heart unto its own ; 
The sea sobs out its longing 

In ceaseless undertone. 

My spirit hastens outward 

With hurried, breathless flight, 

Beyond the green salt-meadows, 
Beyond the coming night, 

Far outward ! As the sea-bird 
That sleeps upon thy breast 
• Droops downward to thy bosom, 
My heart on thine would rest. 

O strong sweet wind, thou bringest 
Like breath of life to me, 

Long exiled from its kisses, 
The greeting of the Sea. 

GALILEE. 

The curling waves that kiss thy strand 

Are those that once the Master trod ; 
The steadfast heights that voiceless stand 

Have seen the miracles of God. 
The cloudless, silent, watching sky 

Has read his life's grand mystery; 
His memories still about thee lie, 

O sacred Sea of Galilee ! 



GALILEE. 35 

How cowered thy waters 'neath the word 

Of Him whose powers the worlds obey ! 
How did they spring to bear their Lord 

Whose vessel on thy bosom lay ! 
The multitude upon thy banks 

Were fed by Him who walked on thee ; 
Thy murmur mingled with their thanks, 

O loyal Sea of Galilee. 

Did Jairus' daughter often roam 

In her young beauty to thy side? 
And didst thou hear the weepers' moan 

Wailing "Alas! the maid hath died"? 
Across thy waves the Master's voice 

Comes sounding to us tenderly. 
By thee their mourning changed to joys, 

O blessed Sea of Galilee. 



Thy shores are consecrated ground. 

Thy ripples flash in heaven's own light. 
From thee the Master's words resound 

Throughout earth's gloomy closing night. 
The morning breaketh ! from the sky 

Thine absent King returns to thee; 
Rejoice, and lift thy billows high, 

O waiting Sea of Galilee. 



86 THE shepherd's anointing. 

THE SHEPHERD'S ANOINTING. 

Unto the sacrifice they go ; 

The prophet scans each eager face ; 
Among them all, how shall he know 

On whom the Lord hath laid His grace? 

" This, Lord?" Not this, though brow be fair, 
Though like a massive pine he stands; 

Nay, 1 will choose among them there 
The one on whom ye shall lay hands. 

Lo, out beneath the valley's rim 
The youngest lad is tending sheep. 

They send in haste to summon him ; 
A servant goes his flock to keep. 

The bright head bows; the dancing eyes 
Fall to the ground with sudden awe ; 

Who knows what half-seen prophecies 
Blotted the landscape that he saw? 

The peril and the nation's praise ; 

The power unto a burden grown; 
The nights of flight, the hunted days, 

The splendor of the kingly throne, 

The vision of his human life 

With glory and with anguish filled, 

While through its clamor and its strife 
The passion of his harpstrings thrilled — 



ART THOU HE ? 37 

All this, half guessed and dimly dreamed, 
Before his young eyes seemed to pass. 

His father's house a palace seemed. 
And Israel's hosts the tufted grass. 

'Twas but a moment, and the lad, 
Silent and wondering, gazes round. 

The prophet's eyes were kind and sad ; 
His brethren, staring, made no sound. 

The blood glowed in his face so fair ; 

The murmured blessing echoed deep. 
With God's anointing on his hair 

He went once more to tend his sheep. 



ART THOU HE? 

Luke vii. 20. 

A prayer ascends from many a sorrowing mother; 

Art thou — they question, sighing wearily — 
He that should come, or look we for another? 

With passionate insistence — Art thou He? 

We hear afar the sound of bitter weeping, 
The wail of mothers in their agony ; 

The moan of babes, for very sorrow sleeping. 
And by their sobs entreating — Art thou He? 



38 TELL IT TO JESUS. 

Prisoned and helpless 'raid the desolation, 
Our hearts are sore oppressed with misery. 

If thou indeed art come to save our nation 
Hark to our cry and answer — Art thou He? 

Hush! at His feet the sighs are changed to singing; 

The dead are raised to life ; the blinded see ; 
Unto the poor the glad good news comes bringing 

Beauty for ashes. Surely, this is He. 

Yea! though we perish, locked within our prison! 

Yea! though his day of power we may not see; 
Yea! though himself be crucified, nor risen 

Yet to our aching vision — this is He. 

Slowly though move the chariot wheels eternal. 
Straight through the darkness onward moveth He; 

The prison gloom is pierced by dawn supernal. 
Our God, for whom we waited ; this is He. 



TELL IT TO JESUS. 

Tell it all to Jesus— the hours of restless waking, 

The sharp, swift stab of agony, the sorely failing 
strength. 
Throughout the weary watches thy pillow ne'er forsaking 
His hand shall rest upon thee, and His peace shall 
come at length. 



JOY COMETH IN THE MORNING. 39 

Tell it all to Jesus — the grief that knows no healing, 
The wrong that's past forgetting, the bitterness untold 

Upon the quivering heartstrings His tenderness comes 
stealing, 
And His divine compassion shall thy broken life enfold. 



JOY COMETH IN THE MORNING. 

Weary and burdened, with grief oppressed, 
Saviour, in Thee would we find our rest. 

Hearts that are broken, 

Sorrows unspoken, 
Find a sure refuge upon Thy breast. 

Pity, O Saviour! 

Grant us thy favor. 
Weeping endureth the long, long night. 

Oh, may the morning 

In splendor dawning 
Bring to our heavy hearts joy with the light. 
Thou who canst bid all our sorrows cease. 
Comfort our hearts with Thy touch of peace. 

Waking or sleeping. 

In thy kind keeping, 
Comfort us, Lord, with Thy touch of peace. 



40 THEY CRUCIFIED HIM. 

"THEY CRUCIFIED HIM." 

Matt, xxvii. 35; Mark xv. 25; Luke xxiii. 33; John xix. 18. 

" They crucified Him ! " With a sob 

The writer pauses in his tale, 
His great heart beating, throb on throb, 

As if the echo of that wail 
Which stabbed the shuddering air again 

Beat on his senses — "Crucify! " 
As if he felt once more the pain, 

The shame of awful Calvary. 

And we — we read the piteous words 

As of a tale of by-gone days. 
We shudder at the dying Lord's 

Passion, but yield nor prayer nor praise. 
In thoughtless mood we bow the head, 

With careless hearts we bend the knee. 
Yet do our feet refuse to tread 

The stony heights of Calvary. 

Yet if our wayward feet are led 

Past grove and garden, hall and street 
To find that Mount on which He bled 

Who walked that way with bruised feet,- 
With precious blood its slopes are wet, 

With blood poured out for you and me, — 
Forgive us, Lord, that we forget 

The footprints on sad Calvary. 



RESURGIT. 41 

" They crucified Him ! " Tenderly 

They bear his body to its tomb. 
In life a homeless wanderer he, 

In death the rich prepare him room. 
And at his feet who bore our sins 

In his own body on the tree, 
'Tis at his feet our life begins 

"Who died for us on Calvary. 



RESURGIT. 

Life to the hills returns ; and on the fields 

Is spread their robe of resurrection ; there 
The wood the crimson of its new buds yields 

And with its perfume drenches the cool air. 
The piteous plaining of a widowed dove 

Is drowned in cooings over new-built nests; 

The Spring is greeted in a thousand breasts, 
But he returns not to our yearning love. 

Beneath the showers from soft-hued skies that fall 

The buried seed awakes, and lifts its head 
To greet the sun, and answer to the call 

Of the warm wind that whispers o'er its bed. 
But on the sod that guards this precious dust 

Still falls the shower of unforgetting tears ; 

And weary months go by, and lagging years, 
While mourning Love still sighs and strives to trust. 



42 BEREAVEMENT. 

Wait but a little yet! the light shall dart 

Throughout the dark where sleeping lies our dead. 

The widowed heart shall lie upon his heart, 

And crowned with life shall rise that shining head. 

Hand clasped in hand, when from the winter-sleep 
That which was mortal shall immortal rise, 
Our eyes shall see the King, and in His eyes 

Long gazing, shall for aye forget to weep. 



BEREAVEMENT. 

Though icy bands dispute their way. 
The hidden brooks still singing flow ; 

The rock-strewn hillsides, bare and gray, 
Were robed in ermine long ago. 

These yet shall greet the summer's day, 
But he is gone who loved them so. 

A wailing wind that stirs the trees 
Among the pines is moving slow. 

It thrills in wierdest harmonies 
And drops in minor music low. 

Pass into silence! Sounds like these 
Reach not his ear who loved them so. 

Stir not, ye wearied ones who rest 
Where God doth quiet sleep bestow. 



THE MANTLE OF THE DEAD. 

We bring our dearest and our best 
To lie with you beneath the snow. 

And anguished love, too late confessed, 
Cries out in vain, " We loved him so! " 



THE MANTLE OF THE DEAD. 

It lies above them like a mantle, cold 
And pure, in frozen beauty, fold on fold ; 
It wraps the bare, dry earth with loving care, 
And all that meets our eyes is pure and fail. 
How fairer far the forms that lie below, 
Ah, none but mourners know. 

Yet they were not unmarred, that lie so white 

Beneath the kisses of the winter light. 

With deep grieved hearts, what bitter tears we shed ! 

Why mourn we witli such sorrow for the dead? 

Ah, over all the past lies, drooping low, 

The error-hiding snow. 

O chilling mantle ! droop thy fringe not yet 
On life, that we in grief may faults forget. 
Let it not be in vain that those we prize 
Look sorrowing, repentant in our eyes 
To see there our forgiveness and our trust 
Ere they lie in the dust. 



44 THE LAST WATCH. 

THE LAST WATCH. 

The house is silent, save the ticking clock 

And crackling fire that leaps and flares and dies ; 
And out-of-doors the October night- wind sighs 

And shudders with shrill whispers at the lock 
Where the dead master lies. 

The early frost that chills the shrinking flesh 

Is not so cold as he, so marble fair ; 

The head that seemed an aureole to wear 
Lies with the moonbeams tangled in the mesh 

Of silver beard and hair. 

So cold ! So still ! The music of his voice 
The echoing rooms shall waken nevermore ! 
Heart pulseless grown ! Upon the silent floor 

His coming step shall make no heart rejoice 
As it was wont of yore. 

Beneath the roof that now is masterless 

The out-worn watchers fain their eyes would close 
Yet, dreaming, Love bereaved its sorrow knows 

And sobs in sleep beneath the piteous stress 
Of his unstirred repose. 

O widowed heart, thy watching all is done ! 

Drop thy tired head, and lose thy grief in sleep! 

Let other eyes this last long vigil keep, 
And yield this service to his brother's son 

Who fain with you would weep. 



"he is not here, he is risen." 45 

Widowed and fatherless! The silence grows 
More chill and heavy as the hours drag on. 
To sad remembrance wakes the clouded dawn 

And aching eyes from bitter dreams unclose 
To see a weary morn. 

Dim in the East a pallid day-dawn steals 
Across the hills that 'gainst the sky afar 
Like new-filled graves the day-light's portals bar. 

Yet while despairing grief in anguish kneels 
Still shines the Morning Star. 



"HE IS NOT HERE, HE IS RISEN." 

From out the shadow of the tomb 
The Lord has passed to life and light. 

The earth, that veiled herself in gloom, 
Forgets the horror of that night. 

O risen Lord, our hearts were sore. 

We thought to find the stone unmoved ; 
The fragrant spices that we bore 

Were for his body whom we loved. 

No longer, hopeless in our woe, 

The path of grief we sorrowing tread. 

Spake not the watching angel so? 

"Seek not the living 'mongst the dead ! " 



46 THE SHADOW OF A GRAVE. 

Not here ! not where man's greed and hate 
Defile the land with guiltless blood! 

O seeking soul, most desolate, 
Look up ! behold thy living God ! 

Yea, thou shalt see his promised hour 
Despite of Sin and Death and Hell ; 

For, crucified and raised in power, 
He hath redeemed His Israel. 

THE SHADOW OF A GRAVE. 

Nor wide nor high the grassy mound 
That earth for his last couch doth lend. 

So low it lies upon the ground 
The very daisies o'er it bend. 

And 'neath the kiss of cloudless skies 

The grasses far above it wave. 
And yet the whole world darkened lies 

Within the shadow of that grave. 

SAMUEL P. NOTTAGE, 

DIED MAY 30, 1896. 

Silent the sun-bathed hill-side, hushed are the laugh and 

jest ; 
Only the birds in the branches twitter above the nest, 
Only the river floweth softly kissing the sod ; 
Silent the spirit goeth suddenly back to God. 



SAMUEL P. NOTTAGE, 47 

Tears? they will come to-morrow! many a lonely hour 
Waits with its load of sorrow, crushing the heart with 

its power. 
His widowed heart is past aching, placid his troubled 

breast ; 
Why for Mm should we be making moan, since he lies at 

rest? 

Past are his lonely hours, ended his need of tears; 
Our God will wipe them forever in His eternal years. 
There shall be no more parting, there shall be no more 

pain, 
But the voice that his heart has longed for shall welcome 

him home again. 

But now, when I wake in the morning and quiet and 

listening lie, 
Hearing the birds in the branches and the river rippling 

by, 

Comes the vision of that bright hill-side, with the waters 

kissing its sod 
Whence sudden and swift and silent, his spirit returned 

to God. 



TERRA MORTIS. 

Out of the failing year, 
Borne on a breaking heart, 



48 TERRA MORTIS. 

Goes one who will not hear 
Sobs that unbidden start. 

Into thy land, Death, 

Where mourning Love would stay, 

"Where Memory tarrieth, 
Bear we our dead to-day. 

All things beneath the sun 

Come to an end in thee. 
Races for palms unwon 

End at the bitter sea; 
Baubles of Fame and Pride 

Break like the breaking foam. 
Love still unsatisfied 

Finds on this shore its home. 

Voices once silver-sweet 

Die into silence here. 
Hearts that with passion beat 

Throb not to love nor fear. 
Brows that were laurel-crowned 

Heaped with dark sea-weed lie. 
Dark is each lowly mound, 

Shadowed with mystery. 

Into thy land, Death 
Come with unwilling feet 

All that hath life and breath. 
All that is dear and sweet. 

By the gray Sea of Tears, 
Splashing its bitter spray 



OUR COMFORTER. 49 

Over our hopes and fears, 
Leave we our dead to-day. 

Patience awhile, my heart ! 

There shall be room for thee. 
Wearied out as thou art. 

In this still company ; 
Weep for a little now ; 

Thou shalt weep never a tear 
When with untroubled brow 

Thou shalt lie sleeping here. 

OUR COMFORTER. 

Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the 
Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort, who comforteth us 
in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which 
are in any trouble by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are com- 
forted of God. 2 Cor. i. 3, 4. 

Let us come in unto your fellowship. 
Ye that sit desolate in darkened places ; 

Ye that with downcast eye and quivering lip 
Recall the tenderness of vanished faces ; 

Ye that are mourning, we are mourners too. 

We seek your comfort since your grief we knew. 

We, too, have seen the radiance on the dead 
Dear face, before to dust its beauty faded. 

We listen for the well-remembered tread, 

And miss the smile that left the household shaded. 

The hymns he loved now other voices raise. 

Yet God for sobs of grief gives songs of praise. 



50 ON NOQUOCHOKE RIVER. 

Yet do our eyes seek heaven, though tears be shed ; 

Yet are we comforted, though hearts are aching. 
For He is near, whose voice shall wake the dead. 

And binds and heals the spirits almost breaking. 
Sad hearts ! although we weep and are forlorn, 
He leaves us not all comfortless to mourn. 

A little space the sunlight fades to night, 
But the eternal years bring endless morrow. 

Ere long the burden will grow strangely light, 
And we shall read the meaning of this sorrow. 

To Thee the widow and the orphan cry : 

Our Comforter be thou, O Lord Most High. 



ON NOQUOCHOKE RIVER. 

While the dancing wave a-quiver 

Shows the first pale evening star, 
Bear me down, impatient River, 

Where the deepening waters are ; 
Past the weeds among the islands 

Reaching out entangling arms. 
Past the meadows, past the highlands, 

Dangerous eddies, treacherous calm. 
Swiftly, lightly bear me onward 

Loving River, on thy breast. 
Till my heart and thine together 

In the great Sea find our rest. 



ON NOQUOCHOKE RIVER. 51 

Heart, my Heart, dost feel the River 

Clasp thee in its arms of love? 
Naught need make thee start or shiver, 

Rocks beneath, or clouds above. 
Tenderly the waves caressing 

Murmur, while the twilight falls. 
Broken sighs of love, of blessing. 

And the Sea unceasing calls 
Thee and me, O eager River. 

Yearning, longing, wordlessly. 
Hastening on, delaying never, 

Toward the passion of the Sea. 

River, hearest thou the calling 

Of the great Sea's mighty tide, 
On the gleaming beaches falling. 

Calling still, unsatisfied'? 
Swiftly flow, by Love's power holden. 

While the cold light leaves the west, 
And the gray moon, cloud enfolden, 

Rises ere we gain our rest. 
So God's love calls through the thronging 

Of all paths by tired feet trod ; 
So all human love and longing 

Bears us upward unto God. 



52 IF YOU LOVE ME, TELL ME SO. 



IF YOU LOVE ME, TELL ME SO. 

If you love me, tell me so ! 

Let the words drop tenderly 

On my heart when you can see 
That my strength is ebbing low. 
When my lagging footsteps pass 
Heedless of the springing grass, 

Careless of the flowers below. 

If you love me, tell me so. 

If you love me, tell me so. 

Pain grows lighter when I hear 

Words my maiden heart held dear — 
Words you often whispered low. 
Let the magic that they bear 
Sweeten all my daily care, 

Steal the sharpest sting from woe ! 

If you love me, tell me so. 

In the depths of memory 

I can hear them echoing; 

And the happy accents sing 
All my life's joy out to me. 
Now when rosy skies are gray 
How I long to hear you say 

Those dear words of long ago. 

If you love me, tell me so. 



THE PERFECT VOICE. 53 

Strength and hope and courage fail ; 

Eager will and busy hand 

Will not serve at ray command ; 
Dreams of youth grow dull and pale. 
Where the young June grasses wave 
Half my life lies in a grave. 

You are left to me ; but oh, 

If you love me, tell me so. 

One of us some day must lie 

Voiceless, pulseless, cold and still. 

Dreaming on that grassy hill 
'Neath the kisses of the sky. 
Tenderness will be in vain. 
Memory will but quicken pain. 

Ere our steps asunder go. 

If you love me, tell me so ! 



THE PERFECT VOICE. 

The organ, like a fettered soul, 

Pours out upon the listening air. 
As throbbing billows upward roll, 

The wordless burden of its prayer. 
Then, stealing on its ebb and flow, 

Appealing voices softly plead. 
Upbearing on its cadence slow 

The ceaseless cry of human need. 



54 LITTLE THINGS. 

As the wind-harp's awakened tones 

Respond, when by the wind caressed, — 
Each chord the forceful impulse owns. 

Yet one sounds sweeter than the rest, — 
So, rising on the Sabbath calm, 

These voices blend in harmony ; 
Yet, singing soft the dear old psalm, 

There is one perfect voice for me. 

What depths of sorrowful regret 

Lie in the full-toned melody! 
Lord, grant I never may forget 

This humble prayer that speeds to Thee. 
I bow my head upon my hands ; 

More need that I should pray that prayer. 
O voice, my spirit silent stands; 

Thou art with God — speak for me there ! 

LITTLE THINGS. 

Thou desirest great things ; 

But bide God's time. 
"Whether thy life's hymn seems 

Plain prose or rhyme. 

Whether thy life run on 

In quiet way, 
Having small things to do, 

Little to say. 



LITTLE THINGS. 55 

Or if an honored place 

Great men among 
Thou hold'st, by skill of pen, 

Pencil or tongue. 

Still thou mayest serve thy God 

With loving heart 
And ready, willing hand 

Where'er thou art. 

If roses line thy path 

Or violets. 
Ever remember this : 

God ne'er forgets 

To give thee some sweet flowers ; 

The humblest are the best, 
Thank Him for what He sends 

And leave the rest. 



LofC. 



Feb -7 190X 



M/l 



JAN 23 1901 



f/^.!^«/^«/ OF 



